


Thursday Game Nights

by charcoalmink



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalmink/pseuds/charcoalmink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting was easier than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday Game Nights

This _might_ have been a stupid idea.

That is, if Damian did stupid things. But he could handle it.

As it was, he didn’t have time to reconsider, leaping into the air just before Red Hood’s foot swept underneath him. He couldn’t even catch his breath as a fist dug hard into his ribs. Inhaling sharply, he let the impact roll him backwards into a handspring. He landed into a crouch atop a rickety stack of crates that smelled like rotten tomatoes.

“Here, birdie, birdie,” Red Hood cooed. The sharp edge of a hunting knife glinted in one of his fists. It was large and unwieldy, not something that either of them would use. He must’ve nicked it off one of the smugglers, then. It wasn’t practical-- too big, more for show. But if he got close enough, it would do its job.

Damian sneered, his expression visible by the light filtering through the windows. Dust motes floated around them like some sad parody of snowfall. It was cold enough to complete the illusion, anyway.

“Come on, doesn’t Polly want a cracker?” He was barely out of breath while Damian nursed what was most likely a hairline fracture in his left ankle. (A moment of carelessness. He’d berate himself later.) The knife flashed back and forth in Damian’s eyes mockingly, daring him to step down from his perch. It was just a temporary reprieve, really. Todd could just as easily come up to him as it was for Damian to jump down. 

“Your pathetic attempts at goading me are hardly worth acknowledging,” Damian sniffed disdainfully. He shifted as imperceptibly as possible, leaning on his uninjured leg. But the moment he redistributed his weight, he knew Todd had caught on. Todd’s muscles tensed, and as expressionless as that mask was, Damian could swear it was smirking at him. 

Half a second later, Damian was springing from the crates and grabbing at the lowest rung of the walkway above them. He felt something thick curl around his wounded ankle just as his fists closed around the metal. He braced himself, but still gasped aloud as the other’s weight pulled him sharply down. A biting, tearing pain seared up his leg and his arms were trembling. 

“You’ll do more damage holding on,” Red Hood hummed gleefully, hanging onto Damian’s foot like some deranged orangutan. 

Damian grit his teeth and _swung_ as hard as he could. The taste of blood erupted in his mouth as he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound. He met the sickening crunch of bone and Todd’s surprised grunt with nothing but satisfaction as his foot cracked into the other’s face. The moment Todd’s grip slipped, Damian levered himself up with barely a wince. 

He tested his balance and realized that standing was hell and running was unthinkable.

Convenient, because thinking wasn’t an option right now.

He threw himself promptly over the ledge just as the grate beneath his feet rattled with extra weight. Todd followed after him, one hand closing over the back of Damian’s neck, the other shoving his shoulder to turn them around.

It wasn’t until they landed that Damian realized he’d fallen on top of Todd rather than under him. Still, instincts kicked in, and he shot out his arm, the palm of his hand colliding with the underside of Red Hood’s mask. It jerked the other’s head back at an unnatural angle, and he swore he could hear muscles straining. Luckily, the fall disoriented Todd more than him and he twisted away, injured leg bent to the concrete, hands up in defense.

It was really a testament to Todd’s endurance that he recovered quickly, both from landing flat on his back from several feet up and Damian’s uppercut. Damian had barely blinked before Todd was pushing himself to his feet, twisting his neck from side to side as if working out some minor kink. Still, Damian’s trained eye could see that the fall had done some damage. He was favoring his right side.

“A simple thank you would have sufficed.”

“Thank you,” Damian replied, sugary sweet. His smile though was too toothy to be anything but biting. He resembled something out of a B-rated horror film, his body cast halfway in shadow and the other under muted, dusty starlight. 

Jason snorted and it was just the kind of cheesy, scripted banter that neither of them liked. (Dick was better at this. He was always the chattiest one.)

The silence that descended might’ve had the potential to be awkward if either of them were the type of people to acknowledge social niceties. As it was, it felt like a breath, the brief hesitation before starting another conversation.

And in the next second, Damian was hurtling shoulder-first into a broken heating unit, fighting off the elbow that cut into his diaphragm and made him choke. He had one hand circling Hood’s throat, the other holding back the eight-inch blade creeping closer and closer to his temple. He squeezed his fingers, feeling the rapid pulse under the pad of his thumb at the same time he felt a stinging sensation slide down the side of his cheek.

“Stupid move, baby bird,” Todd hissed, and the vibrations from his throat reverberated up from Damian’s palm to his wrist. He managed to suck in a breath and bite down hard on his tongue as his leg exploded in pain. Jason was taller, physically stronger, and currently less injured than Damian-- a fact that Todd took advantage of with smug mirth. He kicked again at the boy’s ankle, the steel toe of his boot jarring the mess of bone and flesh. Damian buckled silently, both of his hands loosening.

“I told you you would do more damage by holding on.” Hood shoved hard, pressing the smaller frame against the pockmarked wall. Damian stood lopsidedly, but stood nonetheless. The smile on his face looked like it belonged on demonically-possessed children’s dolls, blood oozing sluggishly down the side of his face. It was smeared and mixed with bits of dirt and gravel from their tousle.

“You look manic,” Todd said conversationally. He stepped carefully, deliberately on Damian’s injured foot as he boxed the boy in. The tip of the hunting knife flicked at the larger blobs of blood on the other’s cheek. They flaked off easily under the sharp blade.

Damian’s smile turned scornful-- or rather, more scornful. One eyebrow bobbed above his mask, aristocratic and mocking. “Are you aware you’re pathological,” he countered, voice calm and similarly casual. He didn’t try to pull his foot away. (Futile and not the opportune moment.) While he focused on the way Todd shifted against him, waiting for an opening, he was sharply aware of the knife against his face.

“Overly belligerent,” Todd answered. 

“Demented.” 

Jason gave a considering noise as he pressed deep, watching fat droplets of blood well up on Damian’s lower lip. He kept pushing until two thin lines dribbled down the other’s chin. 

Damian was the very picture of exasperation. “Is this going to take long? I have a report to write.” He centered more of his weight and lifted his chin. By now, he was already taller than Tim and he wasn’t far behind Dick. Jason was only a scant few inches taller.

“You’re almost hurting my feelings,” Jason said, smearing the red lines around Damian’s mouth. It looked carnal.

“Then I guess I should try harder.” Damian’s tongue flicked out, gingerly prodding at the wound. He scowled. “I could get gangrene.” It was entirely untrue and they both knew it.

Jason laughed and the sound was oddly echoey. He held up the knife and rubbed the flat side of it over the long cut in Damian’s cheek. Damian huffed impatiently, though he still felt for any shifts in the other’s position that would give him a chance to slip away. He was acutely aware of Jason’s free hand fisted near his ear against the wall and his legs trapped between the other’s spread thighs. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable; he’d been in worse situations before. But the length with which this pose was being held made it feel intimate. It did terrible things to his rising level of agitation. He supposed he could just go for brute force and shove Todd away, but his motions would be telegraphed. They were both too good to be surprised by the obvious.

“Now you look a bit like me.” Jason interrupted his thoughts with an amused sound. Damian twitched the right side of his face, which felt faintly itchy with the thin layer of blood spread all over it.

“You are extremely touched in the head, Hood,” Damian enunciated slowly as if he were speaking to a particularly dull child.

“You’ve never heard of a fetish?” Damian could hear the grin in Todd’s voice.

“I’ve heard of narcissism.”

“Ah, I guess you’re too young then.”

Damian bared his teeth in some semblance of a sneer, to which Jason laughed at again. He settled his weight more firmly against the smaller male, forcing Damian to support them both on one good leg.

“Hm? Or maybe you’re not.” Jason’s groin pushed into his, more painfully than pleasantly. 

Damian couldn’t have rolled his eyes harder, though it wasn’t visible beneath his mask. “I’m a _teenager_ ,” he spat, far from embarrassed.

“Nice to know you’re going through at least one normal stage in life.” Jason remained motionless for a breath, before he rocked forward again. Immediately, Damian tensed, one of his hands still close to Todd’s throat, twitching suddenly. The other pressed warningly below the other’s ribs.

“ _You are demented_ ,” Damian hissed. His thumbnail dug into Todd’s Adam’s apple. 

“Enthusiastically opportunistic,” was his gleeful response. The knife sparkled and lowered. Damian tracked it with his eyes until it was too close to see anything but its lower half. He felt the sharp tip wheedle beneath the edge of his mask. It peeled away at the gum holding the domino in place.

Damian would have crossed his arms had he enough room to do so. Instead, he let his body slacken, slouching against the unyielding support at his back. It only separated them by a hair’s breadth, but he felt less stifled this way. Rolling his shoulders, Damian tipped his chin up further, feeling the blade dig into the soft flesh beneath his eye.

“Hurry up then,” he said in clipped tones. The hand at Todd’s side fisted, knuckles digging hard into layers of kevlar and leather. His fingers flexed warningly at the other’s jugular.

The cords in Jason’s neck tightened briefly in surprise. “Impatient. I guess you haven’t heard of foreplay either.”

Damian’s thumb fit perfectly into the small dip at the center of the other’s collar. He pressed hard enough to bruise, his other fingers spreading and digging in underneath Todd’s jaw. “I’m a teenager,” Damian repeated wryly. He closed his hand and began squeezing just as Todd bucked forward.

“Then this shouldn’t take long.” Jason grunted. “For you.” Damian inhaled noisily and hissed as the knife bit into his cheek and then lifted, the mask peeling away from his skin. 

His fingers tightened suddenly, feeling muscle and tendons stiffen under the palm of his hand. “It stays on,” Damian growled. His mouth fell open and the breath punched out of him as Jason thrust against him hard in response. So far, it was nothing but uncomfortable and painful. His arousal was only a faint simmer in the pit of his stomach, curling at the edges of his consciousness from leftover adrenaline. 

“Take off the suit.” 

“What?” Damian forced himself to remain in place, fighting the urge to lean away as the blade slithered towards his ear.

“The leotard, swan lake.”

“Not happening, Rothbart.”

Jason barked out a laugh, sharp and amused. The hand keeping him boxed in against the wall suddenly dropped, roughly pushing Damian’s tunic up and out of the way. Damian didn’t protest. Apparently ‘not happening’ meant ‘you do it.’

Gloved fingers skimmed his belt, easily finding its catches and hinges. Sucking in a short breath, he watched as it finally clattered to the floor, draping inelegantly over one of Jason’s boots. Damian briefly contemplated the likelihood of escape on a broken ankle. He tugged on his injured foot, still wedged between the floor and Jason’s boot, not bothering to hide the gesture. The other barely reacted, simply shifting his weight and making Damian’s leg throb all the way up to his knee.

“Can you hurry this up?” He had a lot of practice sounding as scathing as possible, and was glad that it worked now.

“I could if you listen to me.”

“You could if you use both hands,” Damian supplied helpfully. He was getting tired of having a knife in his face. 

Jason made another amused sound, metallic and odd from the helmet. His thumb pulled the hem of Damian’s leggings over one side of the other’s hip, exposing the bump of bone. The rough-smooth texture of leather swiped over the protruding muscle, making the smaller male twitch. Damian’s fingers turned bruising around Jason’s throat, a reminder.

“This isn’t going to be much fun if I can’t breathe.”

“I am not entirely concerned with your enjoyment or survival.” 

The leggings were pushed down, exposing Damian to the frosty chill of the air. “Duly noted,” Jason huffed, scratching his fingers low on the other’s exposed abs. Damian made a similar breathless sound, though it was mostly bitten off. His fingers flexed and his knuckles rubbed down the length of Jason’s side, hard enough to bruise.

“You have five minutes.”

“Before what? You call backup?” Damian’s lips twisted and Jason’s grin was evident in his voice.

“Thought so.” His fingers wrapped none too gently around the base of Damian’s cock, eliciting a startled jerk of the other’s hips. “And five minutes? Aren’t you underestimating yourself?”

“Maybe I’m severely overestimating you,” Damian bit back. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, stuttering when Jason twisted his wrist. He had only been half-hard, which the older male fixed with quick, harsh pulls. Damian locked his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically as he swallowed back any traitorous sounds. It hurt-- a lot-- and it was too dry to be particularly pleasurable. But the intent was still there and Jason’s grip wasn’t tight enough to really cause any harm.

“Hm,” Jason hummed, sudden and inspired. It made Damian’s spine stiffen with suspicion, his anxiety climbing as the blade slid away from its position against his temple.

“Todd,” Damian growled, and he considered the merits and possibilities of strangling the other with one hand. His eyes dropped, following the knife to where it circled the emblazoned ‘R’ on his chest before trailing lower to rest on his hip. He ground his teeth and for a second was seized with the insane indecision of whether he preferred the weapon at his face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t damage any important bits.” As if in reassurance, his fingers tightened and Damian grunted.

“I’m not sure we share the same criteria for what is important or not.” He was fairly proud of himself that he sounded almost totally composed.

Jason didn’t answer-- verbally, anyway. His strokes slowed as the knife flicked up, nicking Damian’s hip. The cut was small and shallow enough that the pain barely registered. Still, Damian’s stomach caved in on a deep inhale, pulling away from the blade. He shifted restlessly, welcoming the ache when he leaned on his injury. His stomach churned, muscles jumping and twitching with every drag of Todd’s palm, just on the right ( _wrong_ ) side of agonizing. It made him hyperaware of his breathing, of the sweat gathering at his temples despite the cold, and of the slight trembling of his thighs. He tried to keep motionless but it was a losing battle.

It was jarring to be touched like this. Not so much that it was Todd-- who was honestly probably the least surprising element in all this-- nor was it that he had a broken leg and it was happening against the wall of a warehouse in the middle of winter. Damian was more perplexed that it was happening at all, in an existential sense. He had never been and didn’t foresee himself being all that interested in sex. Other than the occasional... _symptoms_ of adolescence, he wasn’t too concerned with his hormones.

“Picturing someone else?” Jason had tipped his head forward, close enough now that Damian could feel the cool, smooth surface of the other’s helmet. To anyone else it might have been menacing; but frankly, Damian thought he looked ridiculous.

“Your insecurity is touching.”

“Who is it? That ginger kid-- Oliver Twist?” Jason had his body curved forward, leaving enough space between them so that he wasn’t _quite_ impaling Damian. The broad side of the knife was a cold presence along his pelvis, occasionally tilting to one side, leaving long, shallow marks on his skin.

Damian scowled and Jason apparently took his silence as a negative. “Dear old daddy?” He punctuated the statement by leaving a deeper cut in the meat of his upper thigh and pulling on Damian’s cock too tight too hot toomuchtoomuch _toomuch_.

Damian clamped down on his tongue, jerking and shutting his eyes as his orgasm was forced out of him, violent and disorienting. He let out a shuddery breath, gasping and reeling from the sensation. In a haze, he realized he could feel the whispery-soft breaths Jason sucked in, Damian’s fists having tightened as a reaction. No complaints were forthcoming. Though he had no doubts that if he waited any longer, he’d be paying for it. Incrementally, his fingers loosened around the other’s throat, but not quite letting go. His other fist continued to dig into Jason’s ribs.

There was a momentary standstill, with Damian forcing himself to breathe calmly and Jason-- apparently losing his patience. The hand that had previously been touching Damian now reached for his own belt, just a bit more clumsy in his haste. The belt hung loose around his waist and the front of his pants were peeled open. Damian stared impassively at the top of Jason’s head, his own dim reflection bouncing back at him. He ground his jaw as he listened to the rustling of fabric, the telltale sound of a zipper lowering. 

Suddenly, Damian lurched, startled by the familiar brush of leather against his too-sensitive cock. He dropped his hand from the other’s side and risked a glanced down, intending to straighten his clothes. 

He was met with the cold-white stare of Jason’s mask and the rhythmic jerk of the back of Jason’s hand with every stroke. Damian held his gaze. He hissed, quietly, as the knife bit into his thigh once more, too close to the earlier wound. However, none of his lacerations were serious enough to concern him, so he had the luxury of ignoring them for now.

“Which one of my parents are you fantasizing about?” His voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm and Damian refused to look away, feeling his palm jump as Jason swallowed. “My mother or my father?”

It should have been disconcerting to be staring into a blank non-face. But Damian was grateful that he couldn’t tell if Todd was grinning or wincing at him.

“Maybe both. Maybe-- _hah_ \-- neither.” Jason gripped himself tightly, the palm of his glove unforgiving. Still, it was undoubtedly more comfortable than it had been for Damian. He huffed a laugh, groaning breathlessly as he thought about the wetness he was rubbing onto his skin. His hips strained as the arousal at the base of his spine roiled and licked at his insides, uncurling and expanding.

“Do you wish it was you?” He slowed his strokes, twisting to rub the pad of his thumb around the head of his cock. It was a strange sensation, muted in his hand, too concentrated everywhere else. He breathed in noisily; he didn’t share the same qualms Damian had about being silent.

“I think _you_ wish it was me,” Damian responded. He didn’t sound smug or accusatory. His voice was dry and flat, as if stating a truth. Jason made another sound that could have been amusement but sounded mostly like torture. 

His hand quickened, movements sharp and inelegant, unapologetic in its goal. He wanted to get off and he wanted it _now_ and--

“Maybe you’re picturing the whole family,” Damian mused, contemplative and biting and oh _fuck_ Jason could feel the kid’s thumb at his larynx, pushing _in_ and it wasn’t stopping and he could hardly get a breath in--

Jason groaned, low and guttural as he spilled into his hand. His breaths were deep and greedy to Damian’s shallow, controlled ones. He flexed both wrists, extremely conscious of the knife in his hand. He released himself with a shudder, wiping the mess on his thigh.

Damian remained silent, staring indistinctly at his own hand circling the other’s throat. He could see the blurry, out-of-focus movement of Jason’s shoulder, twitchy at first but then visibly slowing and finally stopping.

“Get _off_ ,” Damian growled, snapping himself into focus.

“Just did.” Jason seemed unconcerned with the immaturity of his response, moving in the sluggish, boneless way of the sexually gratified. He straightened and the knife was pulled away, to which Damian reluctantly uncurled his fingers. Damian moved with short, sharp gestures, pulling his leggings back up and straightening his tunic. He didn’t have the social cognizance nor care to be embarrassed, though he was irritated and... disconcerted. It made him feel unsettled in ways that made him want to break things. Perhaps Todd’s face.

“No cuddling?” Even as he teased, Jason eased off Damian’s foot just as the other’s belt was snatched up and secured in place. Damian touched the pouch holding the hand grenades and eyed the older male.

Jason noticed and barked another laugh. When he stepped back, Damian noticed the knife had been replaced by a grappling gun. He was smart enough not to express his surprise.

“Right, right. I get it. Shit, you’re worse than the replacement.” And before Damian could react, the familiar pop- _hiss_ of the grapple went off, taking Todd along with it.

Silence fell and Damian gave himself exactly four seconds to sag against the wall, one hand rubbing absently at the stinging cuts in his thigh and hip.

Four seconds came and went and Damian gripped a grenade in one hand and his grapple gun in the other. Time to find Drake.


End file.
